


Bad man, sad man

by Dazed_and_Inked



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Mentioned Character Death, Season 3 Spoilers, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-08 16:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazed_and_Inked/pseuds/Dazed_and_Inked
Summary: Birmingham.Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally.The perfect place for a demon like Crowley and a haunted man like Thomas Shelby.





	1. None of my pain and woe can show through

**Author's Note:**

> To [borntovixx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borntovixx/pseuds/borntovixx) and [IcyFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyFlower/pseuds/IcyFlower) , without you all this would have never happened. 
> 
> (Titles from the song "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who)

Birmingham.

Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally. Crowley got off the train (obviously he could pop himself out everywhere, but he really had a passion for cars, trains and all the-engine related stuff) and inhaled sharply, lungs filled with the intense taste of smoke. _Just like home_ , he thought.

From the very first moment he stepped out of the coach, he understood. Surrounded by pain and despair, it wasn’t surprising that a demon could feel some kind of attraction to this miserable, bleak hole. But there was… more.

According to Crowley, every nook of England was soaked with hopelessness and suffering - it was 1924, what did you expect?- but he knew that something, or rather someone, had brought him there. He heard him call, a loud hearthwrenching prayer (not the usual buzz of human thoughts), and, for the first in a time in a very long time, he couldn’t resist answering.

He strolled through the narrow streets of Birmingham, following the low cry. Excitement and curiosity building up into his chest.

***

Crowley stopped in front of the heavy wooden door.

_A church. Seriously?_

He slithered silently through the narrow nave,moving closer to the pew where the man was sitting. The light was weak, but the demon could still see his shape: dark short hair, shoulders slumped under the weight of his coat. The more he walked, the more he could feel the distinctive heat of the fury and the coldsadness that guided him. And the strong smell of whiskey.

Another lost, drunk soul looking for comfort in a church, nothing unusual. But Crowley heard his prayer and he wasn’t looking for God. He was swearing and shouting, this mind lost in a flow of painful thoughts. He wanted damnation, not redemption.

Everything hidden under a mask of indifference.

When he was by his side, the demon sighed heavily to make the man aware of his presence. He tensed, the hand running to the grey flat cap on his lap.

“Looking for some quiet, uhm?”

The man looked carefully at Crowley, blue clear eyes still alert despite the alcohol. He tried to figure out if the red-haired man next to him was a threat (a business rival, a disappointed client or _another_ killer), but he didn’t quite fit the picture.

“You don’t look like a devoted christian,” Crowley added.

“Neither do you,” he sniped coldly, “and not a priest for sure.”

Crowleylaughed with a choked hiss from the back of his throat. “ Amen, I suppose.”

He took a seat next to the other man, bumping their shoulders lightly and making him feel noticeably uncomfortable. Oh, this was one of Crowley’s favorite things about interacting with humans: they don’t have the faintest idea of what they are looking at, but they could feel the danger (some kind of primal self-preservation.) Nevertheless, the man’s face didn’t show any emotion, still cold and restrained. Crowley surprised himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could like this human somehow. Well, everyone knows that he’s an unconventional demon.

“You’re not from Birmingham, I would recognise you. Not the kind of man who can go unnoticed. Where’re you from?”

“London,” a lie he got used to saying among may others.

“And you are here for business? Pleasure? Quite an unwelcoming place for a vacation, I must say Mr. …”

 _Too many questions_ , Crowley thought, _they never talk this much_. People usually get too nervous and scared to speak and the demon had to use all his abilities to make them at ease, ready to confess all their sinful wishes. He quite liked this standard procedure.

But not him. _Too drunk, maybe?_

“AnthonyCrowley.”

“Thomas Shelby,” and they exchanged a brief handshake. Thomas couldn’t not notice that Crowley’s cold hands (colder than his own) had some tiny scales-like scars.

“Anyway, I’m here for business. I go wherever my presence is required and you look like someone who might need my help.”

The demon made the round dark sunglasses slide down his nose, showing his bright yellow eyes just for a second (he had a thing for drama.) Normally he would have been a bit more subtle, using the right amount of charm and touching the right spots. But there was something about Thomas he couldn’t place. He didn’t feel the instinct of hiding his true nature and he couldn’t understand why.

The man beside him didn’t flinch as Crowley expected, the only reaction he got was raised eyebrow and a gaze full of curiosity. The demon could imaginethat this wasn’t Tommy’s first time having visions and seeing what Hell probably looked like.

Crowley smiled. 

“How can I help you, Mr. Shelby? What’s the wish that makes you burn like this?”

“I don’t need help. People come knocking on my door asking favors, the whole city owns me.”

Crowley raised his hands, a small smile on his lips. It never happened before that someone resisted his offers.

 

 _No matter how much time you’re around,_ he thought _, there is always a first time._

 

“Ehi ehi, didn’t mean to offend, your reputation precedes you,” Crowley paused to compose himself and bring out his most persuasive voice, “but just between us, if someone could make your wishes come true, what would you ask for?”

Thomas froze still, trying to swallow the tension. He felt the eyes of the man staring right into his soul behind the dark lenses. If he still had a soul. For the first time after France he realized he was … weak and vulnerable. 

No one makes Thomas Fucking Shelby feel weak. It's a fact.

“I’m not talking about y _our kind_ of business. I’m just a poor sinner who’s asking for a bit of trust.”

“And it takes one to know one,” the other ended.

 

Thomas sighed, turning his eyes on the cap again. Crowley tried to hide small smile: finally, he could see the wreck on the perfect facade.

 _The levee is going to break_ , the demon thought. And it did with a last desperate glance.

 

“I want everything,” he spat out, his cracking voice, “I want them to feel the way I felt when they took her away from me. Oh, God, she was too much for me, I knew it. I should have let her go when I had the chance… An— And I want to take everything away from them, Russian bastards.” and than he rambled something angrily in Romani (Crowley supposed.) Thomas took a deep breath. “I want them to feel empty and hunted as much as I do, and I want to be the cause of their despair. I want back all the strength they took away from me.”

The fury and the hatred in Thomas’s eyes disappeared when his gaze met Crowley’s, understanding all the things he had just said, wishing he could take them back. It was the first time he spoke about what had happened, and he did it with a stranger. He stared at the floor, taken aback by his own feelings. Shame, for sure, but also… relief? He was back at five, when he confessed Polly he had stolen from the shop at the end of the road, his cheeks burning and eyes blurred with tears. Fortunately, he had drunk enough to blame the whiskey.

He expected to be mocked, and he was quite surprised when the man beside him just put a hand on his shoulder. Crowley smiled… softly. Was it — compassion? _No, impossible_. But it really felt the way Aziraphale described it. And he couldn’t stop. If other demons could see him now, they wouldn’t make him forget.

 

“Is that all? No money, no women… Not an island in the middle of the Pacific?”

Thomas shrugged, smiling slightly. “Too ordinary?”

“Oh no, just— you were right since the beginning. I don’t think I can help you.”

Thomas stared in confusion. “But I— I answered your question, I told you what I want and…”

“Of course, but it doesn’t make any sense, you know? Asking me something you already have, and you can do on your own.” Crowley winked, patting Thomas’ shoulder again.

“The situation is bad, I know, but you do look like a man who can handle all this shit. You’re still in charge. Maybe, the only thing you really needed was someone to talk about all you’ve been through.”

 

Thomas stared at him, finally regaining the determination lost a couple of glasses ago, andCrowley knew his (terrible) job was over. They sat in silence a bit longer, looking at the small altar. Crowley glanced dismissively at the huge cross hung on the wall.

_Shit, this is not my job. One of your tacky dressed guys should be here, not me!_

But he was happy no other creature had answered the call. And he was not sure he had done a good action, in the angelic sense of good, after all: Thomas was back and he’d have continued doing his violent job.

 _Oh well, you could have come and done it your way_ , he thought, giving a last accusatorylook at the sky above the ceiling.

 

His mental argument with the upstairs was still going when Thomas cleared his voice.

“A drink. We definitely need a drink. Unless your city taste is too sophisticated for a simple pub in Birmingham,” he smirked and then got up, walking toward the exit without waiting for Crowley. The demon laughed and followed him.

"I don't really care where the pub is as long as its whiskey is good.”

"Oh man, don't worry about that.”

 

And they walked through the narrow streets of Birmingham again, until they reached the Garrison.

***

Believe it or not, that wasn't their last drink together.


	2. But my dreams they aren't this empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many other nights followed that first drink at the Garrison.  
> Crowley had the chance to meet the Shelby family and to share small little secrets with Tommy.
> 
> But all the good things in life come to an end.

Many other nights followed that first drink at the Garrison. Sometimes they met in Birmingham, sometimes in London where Tommy had business with Mr. Solomons (another odd man Crowley had the not-pleasure to meet.) Sometimes he visited Tommy at his house or in Watery Lane, thereforehe had the chance to meet the Shelby family. 

They were friends, somehow, and this was something new to both of them. Crowley have always had nothing but Aziraphale and their weird, century-old friendship (because it wasn't just an alliance anymore); Tommy had his noisy extended family, but he couldn't really say he had a friend since Freddie Thorne, and things got complicated after the war. 

During their evenings they drank, smoked and talked, a lot. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Ada or Polly and, after a while, Crowley found himself quite enjoying their company as well. He liked discussing communist principles with Ada (something the world thought coming straight from hell) and talking about religion and occultism with Polly. They were sharp and clever, obviously the force holding the family and the business together. He couldn't understand why men were so convinced of their gender supremacy. Really.

And then, there were his brothers.

In Crowley’s eyes, the Shelby siblings were basically a heap of angst, rage and cheekbones. Nevertheless, he could understand why ordinary people were so respectful towards them. Arthur was a crazy horse, wrecked to the core but still trying to pull his shit together; John didn’t seem to know what to do half of the time (but fortunately he had Esme, helping him the other half); Finn was just a kid trying to act like his elder brothers.

Last but not least Michael, their cousin: secure and restrained on the outside, scared and full of doubts on the inside. _A bit like Tommy_ , Crowley thought after talking to him for a while.

With the right amount of alcool in their blood, they shared many bits of their private lives: Tommy talked about Grace and Charlie, about the war and his nightmares, and Crowley rambled too many things about himself and, sometimes, about Aziraphale. He vaguely remembers mentioning the fact that he had met Byron in person, and that he was a pompous haughty arse.

But they had some kind of agreement on not talking about work and business.

"It's not a matter of trust,” Tommy explained once, "it's just tha-- I prefer leaving all that stuff at the office, whenever I can.”

And they never discussed about Crowley always wearing sunglasses and the yellow eyes Tommy was sure they were covering. _A trick of lights_ , the man said to himself, _or some kind of disease_. Or maybe he just preferred ignorance for once in his life.

***

Months passed, with more meetings and dinners, but Crowley and Aziraphale never talked about this Tommy-thing properly. After all the time they’ve known each other, it was nice to still have a secret just for himself. And besides, although Crowley would never admit it, he was a bit nervous about the angel’s opinion on the matter. 

He mentioned Tommy once or twice during their conversations, elegantly avoiding every subtle question and curious glance, until Aziraphale decided to bring all this secrecy to an end.

The topic casually popped out during one of their long strolls in St. James, while they were planning one of their usual dinners.

“Oh, not Friday, sorry. Going to Birmingham.”

“Again? Really?” Aziraphale asked, his voice high pitched.

“What, are you jealous?” Crowley snap back with a smirk on his face.

“Of course not!” _Liar_ , the demon thought. The angel frowned, recollecting his thoughts while feeding the ducks.

“It’s just— I’m a bit surprised. I know you enjoy some human things but, you’ve never shown affection to humankind.”

“I’m a demon, I think it’s normal,” he shrugged, trying to hide himself behind his glasses.

Aziraphale chuckled, the sound of small bells coming from his mouth. “Please, dear, we both know you are not… conventional. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing. This Thomas, he must be something if you’re so fond of him.” He threw the last piece of bread into the pond and they started walking again, side by side.

“I don’t think _fondness_ is the right word. He needed help, I did my black magic thing. End of the story.”

“Because you’re a very diligent demon, of course,” the angel said wryly and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I helped him because — I don’t even know. But his voice was so clear, his pain so real that I couldn’t help following it,” he finally admitted.

Then Aziraphale did something Crowley didn’t expect, at all. He put his hand on the demon’s arm, squeezing slightly. Physical contact was a line they crossed only for special occasion. Crowley looked at him with wide eyes and the angel withdrew his hand immediately, blushing under all the tiny freckles on his cheeks.

Aziraphale sighed. “You did something nice, it must have felt good. I can’t even remember the last time I interacted with a human being like this. _Just small things to help them, our duty is to keep balance_ , they said".

He looked really sad and Crowley hated it with all of his heart. Melancholy didn’t look good onthat pretty face. Maybe this could sound like a stereotype, but Aziraphale have always been the one good at comforting. Crowley didn’t know what to do in this kind of situations, but he would definitely make an attempt to wipe that gloomy expression away. 

_ Stupid Archangels who give stupid orders. _

“We’ve got plenty of time to fix that. What I’ve done, it wasn't anything special. Just answer a call or two, there are so many humans that need a guardian angel”, and he gave him what was supposed to be a warm and reassuring smile (like Aziraphale would do), but that probably looked more like a crooked grin. But the angel deeply appreciated it anyway.

“Unless you are so scrupulous you want to stick to Heaven’s rules,” Crowley said amused, finally managing to get a small smile out of Aziraphale.

“Oh and, by the way, I’m not sure you’d define helping Tommy as the right choice,” he added. “He’s kind of a gangster, who knows what kind of dangerous shady business he—,”

“What?!” Aziraphale looked at him in disbelief, “You mean, the first time you take an interest in mankind ever, it is because of a dejected gangster?!” and his voice high pitched again.

 

_Aw_ , Crowley thought, _that’s my finicky boy._

 

“Are you surprised? Really? I’m not a saint and I don’t do charity. I like humans with a moral sense as twisted as mine,” he sneered.

Crowley walked away, leaving Aziraphale behind. He didn’t need to see his face to know it was red with disapproval and indignation.

“Oh, Crowley, I can’t believe it! Yo— you’re—”

“Fabulous? I know, Angel. And please don’t judge him from his job. Now, you have centuries of helping old ladies with their bags to catch up with. Chop chop!”

***

But all the good things in life come to an end, like a bottle of fine whiskey. This thought strikes Crowley’s mind every time, even though he should have learnt the lesson by now. 

 

The day Tommy died, he got a call from Ada. He could hear the light tremble in her voice.

“I thought you might like to know,” she said. He got all the details about the funeral and hung up the phone.

He knew that day would come since the beginning. Tommy was just a man, after all. No matter how long his life would last, it wouldn’t have been enough.

 Crowley kept himself busy for the couple of days before the funeral. He had to make calls, meet people and ask for favors. He also asked Aziraphale for help, hushing him before he could start rambling about feelings and grief, forcing a cup of tea in his cold hands.

The price was high but, in the end, he had what he wanted.

 

 _It’s a nice place for a funeral_ , Crowley thought stepping out his car. He gazed at the thin line where the green fields met the sky. A small group of people, all dressed in black, was gathering slowly around a wooden cart.  He stayed away from them, watching Tommy’s family crying and giving their farewell. Only Ada spotted him; she waved at him sheepishly, grabbing Karl’s shoulder with the other hand. 

Tommy was watching them too, sitting on a fallen trunk beside the cart. His face was calm as usual, not even blinking when he noticed Crowley staring right at him.

“You dont’ look surprised to see me,” the demon said mildly amused, and sat next to him.

“I suppose not,” Tommy answered like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

_Always the most unpredictable_ , and for the first time he didn’t avoid thinking about how much he’d have missed him. 

 

Tommy asked for a last cigarette together and Crowley made them appear. They just stayed there, smoking in silence. At some point, Crowley took his sunglasses off, finally giving his friend a full sight of his yellow snaky eyes. Tommy huffed a smile. 

“They look… appropriate on you,” and the demon couldn’t help laughing.

But then the man sighed heavily. “Do I need to leave immediately? And will— will you take me _there_?”

“I will, but there’s no hurry. We can go whenever you’re ready”

Tommy nodded in acknowledgment.

 

They sat there for a while longer, watching the cart burning slowly. He inhaled the last breath of his cigarette and stood up, giving a last glance at his family.

“Keep an eye on them, on Charlie, would you?”

Of course he wasn’t the right creature for something like that, but he decided to indulge his friend’s last wish.

“I’ll try,” and he put his pale hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

 

They looked at each other, a tiny smile on their faces, and then they vanished into thin air.

***

Many years later, Crowley was hurrying across the streets of London when he stumbled across a small handmade hat shop. Between sharp top hats and bowlers, he noticed a grey flat cap in the right corner of the shop window. The demon crossed the door wearing his most amiable smile, bought the hat and left in a few minutes.

He kept it in a small box at the top of his closet and, sometimes, he wore it just to remember.

(And Aziraphale never stopped joking tenderly about it.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is!  
> I know this work is quite short but maybe there'll be more of this odd crossover in the future ;)
> 
> Feel free to leave comments & suggestions, I'd really appreciate them :)  
> Thanks for reading and enjoy it!
> 
> Ps. Just to inform, I drew the small [Fan Art](https://dazedandinked.tumblr.com/post/183410874636/bad-man-sad-man-chapter-22) and it inspired me to write. You can find my art&stuff on [Tumblr](https://dazedandinked.tumblr.com/) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!   
> This is my first work in a very, very long time and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. It's quite an unusual crossover, but I love these series too much and I was really inspired by their characters.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments & suggestions, I'd really appreciate them :)
> 
>  
> 
> You can find my fanarts and stuff on [Tumblr](https://dazedandinked.tumblr.com/)


End file.
